


Andraste, Hear Your Herald's Prayer

by marvelousmiss



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Pain, Prayer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 23:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4765220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelousmiss/pseuds/marvelousmiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the events of Trespasser<br/>The Inquisitor looks to Andraste for help in the face of her latest crisis...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Andraste, Hear Your Herald's Prayer

It is dark when she wanders off, so late that only the palace guards remain awake, keeping watch over Halamshiral. Her body shakes as she moves, fingers trembling through thick gloves. She dodges the guards as they march past, so tired that they can barely keep their eyes open either. But what keeps her awake is far worse.

The anchor glows, burning, and she tries not to cry out in pain, lest they find her there. She must find somewhere quiet, anywhere, while she still can, for just a moment.

She kneels beneath the fountain erected in her honor, rests her folded hands at the base of one of the small lions. As good a place as any. And in the moonlight, she can read the golden plaque almost perfectly, though she already knows what it says.

Much like it always has, her desperation guides her, but at least this time, she knows where to begin.

"Holy Andraste," she starts, the name barely a whisper as it leaves her mouth. "I know we've asked so much of you already, but…" She pauses, exhaling a sigh and catching tears in her throat. "But as your supposed Herald, I need you one more time."

There is so much she wants to say, but the words choke her. Each name lays its weight upon her tongue. Where to even start?

"Please," she says, "guide Cassandra -- Divine Victoria."

She thinks of Cassandra, bold and brave, sword in hand as she marches into unknown, untold dangers. The Sunburst Throne, she knows, brings new battles for Cassandra. She is already strong, she longs for justice, she rules with a desire for change, betterment. A more peaceful Thedas. A more equal Thedas. The Chantry remade. The Seekers reformed. New Circles for the mages, better Circles. Cassandra, she is sure, will make a great, beloved Divine.

"Grant her patience and compassion throughout her reign."

The silence of her surroundings rings in her ears, and she wonders why she is even praying aloud.

"And Varric…"

She thinks of Varric, ever smiling, despite his tragedies. Varric, who catalogues his journeys and adventures, recounting the heroism of the world’s saviors. And she cringes, thinking of Hawke. How might Varric be now if Hawke were still here? Would Hawke have, perhaps, become Kirkwall’s viscount instead? It doesn’t matter now. It is impossible.

"Grant Varric success and humility. And make sure he never loses his sense of humor."

There is so much more to ask for. A life of peace and bliss for Cole – and Maryden, she supposes. Safety and a sense of belonging for Sera and the friends of Red Jenny. A new start for Blackwall – Thom Rainier, she corrects herself. Whatever Dorian needs when he returns home again – revenge, forgiveness, acceptance, peace. A life of adventure for The Iron Bull and his Chargers. A new purpose beyond the Divine for Leliana – perhaps she will sing again, she thinks. A return to family and normalcy in Antiva for Josephine. And a break, too. Josephine could use a break. For Vivienne, modesty and the grace she needs to lead the ever-changing Circle of Magi. And even Solas, wherever he is, wherever he’s run off to, she hopes that he finds what he needs, what he’s searching for. And she even hopes that he might make his way back to the Inquisition someday, a friend and a mentor.

She cannot remember if there is more she needs to request. Peace for all of Thedas. The continued calmness of the past two years. Let that endure when – no, if – she is gone.

The searing pain from the anchor shoots up her arm now, and its sting reminds her whom she’s still forgotten. Though she cannot ever have truly forgotten.

"And Cullen…"

Her tears well in her eyes, and despite her determination not to cry, his name calls them down her face.

Her ring rests heavily on her finger now, weighing much more than it should. Perhaps it is a side effect of the anchor's destruction.

She thinks of his face, his beautiful grin as his eyes meet hers at their makeshift altar. She thinks of watching him play with the stray Mabari at Halamshiral, remembers his insistence that it is _training_ , not fun. She remembers his strong arms around her as he spins her, as they dance during their first visit to the Winter Palace so long ago. She remembers his flush face as she brings him to bliss in his bedchamber at Skyhold. She remembers the sound of his voice as he tells her he loves her and stumbles on his words for a moment, as if to try to take it back, until she grins, kisses his cheek, and reassures him that the feeling is mutual. The two years of their recent past together, rushing through her memory – every moment of it.

And despite her mind's screaming, she lets herself think on what a future with Cullen would be like.  


Lady Raina Trevelyan-Rutherford. No longer Inquisitor. No longer just Lady Trevelyan, a name so tied up in her family that she sometimes hates the sound of it. No longer "Her Grace" or "Your Worship." No longer even the Herald of Andraste. Perhaps one day she may have just been Raina. Maybe even still, a completely different title.

For a moment, she imagines Cullen as a father. Holding his children. Putting them to bed. Playing games. Teaching them chess -- to play to win, since though they are only toddlers they will still need to learn to beat their cousin. And for a moment, she imagines them with red hair like hers. Sees herself, her image beside Cullen in a beautifully painted family portrait. She wants to see more, to live the life that she never will in her mind while she still can. But it is too painful.

The children she sees are blond now. Still beautiful. In the portrait, there is an unfamiliar woman standing on Cullen's left. She is beautiful too. His Mabari from Halamshiral lies on the floor, old and tired but content. The Commander himself sits in an armchair, looking slightly weary but still as handsome as he has ever been, his eyes moving among his family as he smiles.

This is the life Cullen deserves.

"Please let him be happy. Let him have love and family and happiness." The anchor hums, as if in disagreement, but she grits her teeth and continues, "Give him the perfect life. Peaceful. And moved on."

She is crying completely now. Between the agony of the anchor and the aching of her heart, tears flow down her face in powerful rivers, carving canyons across her ashen cheeks.

Yet she is not quite done.

"And one last thing." She tries to wipe her cheeks, to compose herself now, though she knows she is already too far gone for that. She lets her eyes wander, glancing briefly again at the fountain’s plaque. Her left hand feels almost numb now, the feeling of pins and needles running up her arm. It still glows, illuminating her reflection in the small pool.

She can see now how much she’s truly aged in the past few years. The crow’s feet etched in around her eyes – her mother would have called them laughter lines, but she knows she hasn’t laughed enough for that to be the case. Her hair has grown out a bit, not much but enough. She looks different but the same. It is like staring at a stranger – a familiar stranger.

Her resolve grows ever-slightly as she begins again, “If I have to die, if that is truly part of your plan, please…” She whimpers as the anchor’s glow creeps along her skin, its spark visible beneath the bright fabric of her Inquisition uniform. “… Just please let it not hurt."

**Author's Note:**

> I had a whole lot of feels about the poor Inquisitor and her mark while I played Trespasser that I just had to write about them. And while the DLC brought plenty of happy moments for Inquisitor et al., I just really felt inspired by the angsty "my mark is killing me, but I don't want to die" stuff.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
